


Discover Your Passion, Find a New Hobby

by Lilyliegh



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Idols, Alternate Universe - Link Vrains, Aoi's an Idol and Ryouken's a Hacker, Banter, F/M, Hacking, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 16:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18673627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilyliegh/pseuds/Lilyliegh
Summary: For the past month and the past thirteen lives, the Knights of Hanoi had been stupidly breaking the Link Vrains server. Aoi had no doubt that there was zero ulterior motive behind their actions; they were no longer cyberterrorists putting innocent duelists in comas while searching for the elusive ignis. They weren't even doing whatever vigilante crime they once espoused. No, nowadays they were just dicking around on the regular, old server doing nothing but making SOL Technologies' employees work overtime to handle all the server glitches and glitches. Their crimes came with no purpose.But it was still crime. Her idol career was in jeopardy with all these crashes. She wasn't about to become an idol in Den City—that career came with far to many IRL implications—and she'd only just found her raison d'être. Hell would freeze over before she gave up what she'd worked so hard to achieve.In which Aoi is an idol, becomes a hacker, and puts Ryouken in his place.





	Discover Your Passion, Find a New Hobby

**Author's Note:**

> for the YGO Shipfest Easter Secret Santa! I've seen bits and pieces of Aoi/Ryouken on tumblr and wanted to try out writing this pairing! while it's not particularly fluffy-shippy, i hope the banter is fun, the scenario enjoyable, and the overall fic entertaining. it was a pleasure to write! 
> 
> Happy Spring! <3

Heels click. Skirts rustle. Hands folded, one after the other, as she tries to remain as still as possible as an attendant adjusts the microphone taped against her cheek. The small wire curls over her ear and down her neck, affixing to a small packet taped to the middle of her back and hidden by her Blue Angel wings. Her costume grows from her body in an array of blue satin and taffeta. She feels a bit less like a Trickstar and more like a Marincess, but as she twirls round the stage room, she has to admit that she's always wanted to wear a puffy tutu.

If only she couldn't feel the damn wire against her back. Really, it was thinner than a headphone cord and should have been less painful than the tall heels she was wearing, and yet it was all she could think about, the way it scratched at her spine, the way the tape stuck to her bare skin.

"Miss Zaizen," the attendant said, taking her by the shoulders.

Aoi held her back up straight. "Sorry."

Behind her, someone called out, “On in five!,” and Aoi felt herself grow restless all over again—only this time, it was with anticipation. She loved her live performances. Loved the energy in the auditorium. Loved the lights as they dazzled across her stage, blue and pink and white and oh so fervently waving to the beat of her songs. Loved that all the attention was on her. Loved that, after all this time, she had found something that was hers. Something that she could be proud of.

She slid off the chair, letting her skirts rustle against her thighs. Gone was the uncomfortable feel of the wire against her back; she could only feel her beautiful angel wings, held by strong wires that kept them wide open. When she marched to her spot backstage, the fairy lights in her skirts began to glow. The beautiful, boat neck bodice had pink organza ribbons silhouetting its elegant curves, and she traced her finger along her collarbone to where, placed against her breastbone, was a beautiful, blue heart.

Her hand fell across her chest, rising with each of her steady breaths. Beyond her, she could hear the lights glow. The music rung like chorus bells in her ears.

Someone gave her the cue, but she knew the moment too; the music willed her onto the stage. No stilettos nor itchy fabrics could keep her away from her idol career. No cord could tangle her, pin her down to the floor. She walked onto the stage with the grace, confidence, and beauty of a ballerina. They lyrics were on her lips. The music rung into her headphone.

Ahead of her stretched an audience. There were too many faces to keep track of, and she kept her gaze above all of their heads. Her fans beat their glows stick, chanting the familiar mix: "Tiger, Fire, Cyber, Fiber, Diver, Viber, Jyaa jyaa!"

Aoi bounced her head up and down. She'd performed this song a hundred times already, and still it filled her heart with a melody that she could never shake from her soul. She had to move. Had to dance. Had to sing to the millions of fans around the world all shouting her name.

"A! O! I!"

Then the world  _ glitched.  _ Being in Link Vrains, there was a manufactured component to this live, yet SOL Technologies' systems were mostly flawless. They never malfunctioned unless someone was interfering. She winced as the world around her rumbled and restarted itself. The lights overhead flickered, and she heard her voice crack. Quickly, she caught herself and continued to sing. Up on stage, she only had to worry about finishing her routine; the backstage crew would take care of whatever was going wrong with Link Vrains.

But still, it was hard to see Link Vrains break like this.

It wasn't the first time though.

She kept up with the rest of the performance. The lights hid anyone's disappointment, but she could feel her fans’ confusion and anger wash up to the stage in one giant wave. No matter how clearly she sung, no matter how many tricks she performed, her fans had expected better of her. No matter how much she pushed on, the frustration still got to her. It cracked her voice and slowed her steps; she felt like she was dancing through jelly.

By the time the show was done, Aoi didn't want to see any of her fans. She thanked them all, blew kisses to her fellow followers and encouraged them to continue supporting her through her live performances, merchandise, and social media accounts. But when she spun on her heel, she swore.

"Fuck."

No one in the audience would have heard her.

She marched backstage, hands balled in tight, red fists. In one swift motion she ripped the wire from her ear. Ripped the tape along her back too, and she bit back a hiss.

"Miss Zaizen—"

"What happened?"

The attendant jumped back, both hands up in surprise.

Aoi growled, swallowed, and then buried her head in her hands. "I'm sorry," she said. "My anger wasn't meant to be at you." Carefully, she took a breath and lifted her head. The attendant didn't look quite so afraid, and Aoi herself felt more shame than anger swirling inside her. "Was it them once more?"

The attendant nodded, head hung like a sad puppy.

Aoi bit the inside of her lip. "Very well. Let me handle this."

As gently as she could in her frazzled state, she passed her microphone and earphone to the attendant. Then she marched down the hallway to her private room and slammed the door closed. Her back hit the door with a dull thud. For one painful moment, Aoi felt her heart rend in two.

For the past month and the past thirteen lives, the Knights of Hanoi had been stupidly breaking the Link Vrains server. Aoi had no doubt that there was  _ zero  _ ulterior motive behind their actions; they were no longer cyberterrorists putting innocent duelists in comas while searching for the elusive ignis. They weren't even doing whatever vigilante crime they once espoused. No, nowadays they were just dicking around on the regular, old server doing nothing but making SOL Technologies' employees work overtime to handle all the server glitches and glitches. Their crimes came with no purpose.

But it was still crime. Her idol career was in jeopardy with all these crashes. She wasn't about to become an idol in Den City—that career came with far to many IRL implications—and she'd only just found her raison d'être. Hell would freeze over before she gave up what she'd worked so hard to achieve.

With renewed passion, she pushed off from the door and marched to her duel disk. She tapped the main button, closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she was no longer in her dressing room, but in the lustreless light of her bedroom. Moonlight trickled in from the window, creating several small, white triangles along her carpet. Her bed was pressed into the corner, sheets mussed and several day's worth of clothing draped across the bottom. There were piles of clothing elsewhere too, like little dunes; books that resembled mountains; and all manner of stuff she'd been meaning to put away and had forgotten, and since then hadn't enough energy to pick up even one thing for fear that it wouldn't solve how messy her room had gotten.

Sighing, Aoi rubbed her hands over her face. There was no paint on her skin. No makeup framing her bright eyes or sticky rouge smeared over her lips. She was simply Aoi.

In the dim room, the only proper light source came from her laptop. She'd thrown it on her bed and the blue screen made an eerie imprint of her cover. She picked it up and dusted it off. The thousands of fan e-mails and Twitter likes could wait until another day. First, she needed to stop the Knights of Hanoi.

Her brother had taught her how to hack, and she herself knew some dirty tricks on the internet. She didn't know enough to stop the strongest cyberterrorists in Link Vrains, but if they were disrupting her live shows, she might as well send them a nasty thank you. She crafted a virus to put into their files if they opened up one of her live show videos; they may have been cyberterrorists, but she knew she'd seen Spectre standing in queue for one of her performances. When he would open the file, the virus would spread through their server. It wouldn't destroy them; she wasn't malicious. But it might send a warning to stop planning their attacks at the same time as her lives.

Satisfied, Aoi sent off the harmless-looking e-mail. Seeing the window disappear from her screen sent a little flutter into her chest. She leant back against the pillows, letting the laptop slip off her stomach and her hands flop on either side of her.

Still a part of her wished her live show could have gone better.

All too soon, she heard a beep. A click. Her screen glitched, the colours sliding to the side like some wild vaporwave effect. The lights momentarily hurt her eyes, and Aoi nearly dropped her duel disk in surprise. She'd expected a message within her laptop, but whoever had hacked into her duel disk—one of the Hanoi, she had no doubt—had begun to open up file after file, window after window. Even with her limited knowledge of computers and duel disks, she didn't know half the functions the stranger on the other side was doing.

Belatedly, she realised they were showing off.

Pushing herself on her elbows, Aoi grabbed her duel disk and pushed the main button. It closed a single window, but a moment later another one appeared, and then another.

In the corner of the screen glowed a little, black box with a single, flickering line. A text box.

> _ Revolver: Get off our servers. _

Aoi frowned. She wasn't on anyone's server, much less theirs.

> _ Revolver: This is weak and petty. _

Name-calling? From the great Kougami Ryouken, alias Revolver, leader of the Knights of Hanoi? Aoi watched the screen flicker again.

> _ Revolver: A simple virus won't stop us, Zaizen Akira. _

Aoi blinked. And blinked again. Ryouken thought she was her brother? She was using her own laptop, but then again, could Ryouken tell this was her? It would only show her IP Address, or at least she thought so with her limited computer knowledge, but perhaps Ryouken could only imagine that  _ Akira  _ could send a virus to the Knights of Hanoi.

It brought a small smile to her lips.

> _ Blue Angel: Stop disrupting Link Vrains. It's childish and pointless. _
> 
> _ Revolver: Make your servers better. _

Aoi growled into her palm. They  _ were  _ better. Her brother spent many long hours and overnights at his job working tirelessly so that duelists could have a fun, safe, interactive VR dueling experience. Duel Monsters had seen a boom in interest every since it had connected to the internet. It had become a free, accessible tool for any person in Japan, and soon it would venture out onto the international markets.

And the Knights of Hanoi were just crashing the servers out of pure boredom.

> _ Blue Angel: Find something better to do. _
> 
> _ Revolver: Did you use your sister's idol career to trick us? _

And he still thought it was Akira?

> _ Blue Angel: You think I would use my brother's account to hack you? Can you read the username? _

To her surprise, it took Ryouken a moment longer to respond. Long enough for her to surmise that he hadn't even considered he was talking to anyone but Zaizen Akira—as if her brother had time to deal with Revolver. The narcissistic fool still thought the world rested on his shoulders and bowed to his will.

> _ Revolver: Didn't know you could hack. _
> 
> _ Blue Angel: Didn't know you were still around. _
> 
> _ Revolver: Is it really you? _

Aoi blinked. How was she meant to take that as anything but random and possibly creepy? Yet before she could bring her fingers to the keys and type back, the world around her shifted, titled, and altogether melted. The vaporware effect was at large, but it wasn't appearing in her computer screen—no, it was real and in front of her. The world was changing in a series of lights and colours, and when at last her vision returned—clearly, no special effects flashing in her eyes—she was no longer in her bedroom, but back at the concert hall. The stage was still dressed in ribbons and glitter. Stage lights shone down in soft blues and pinks. When she spun around, she caught sight of her outfit—her idol attire minus the wires.

She brought her hand to her wrist, feeling for her duel disk; it would be the only way back home. But her duel disk was in Ryouken's hand, lazily swinging from between his long fingers. He stood at the front of the stage, dressed in his trademark VR attire: a superhero-like suit of white and green, oddly reminiscent of Playmaker's suit. Without the helmet, Aoi could see the single bullet earring hanging from his earlobe.

As she caught sight of him staring, Aoi hugged an arm to her chest and marched forward. "And just what are you doing?"

"Talking."

"In Link Vrains?"

"I wanted to make sure you weren't your brother."

Aoi huffed. She crouched down and reached for the duel disk. Without stepping back, Ryouken held the duel disk away from her.

"Ah ah. After your virus, I think I ought to hold onto this while my associates fix the servers you mercilessly wrecked."

_ "Your  _ servers," Aoi said with a sniff. Her virus hadn't been lethal; it shouldn't even have been more than daily housework for large-scale hackers, but Ryouken looked like he'd been mortally wounded by her inconveniencing virus. He'd done far worse to her live show, and as she gazed round the theatre, she caught sight of unfinished code hiding in the corners and buggy colours from the lights overhead. SOL was still fixing the servers from the last attack.

From a little microphone within Ryouken's jacket came a soft, tinny voice: "Sir, reparations are fifty percent complete. Estimated time to completion is twenty minutes."

Ryouken pressed the collar of his jacket to his mouth. "Understood." When he caught her staring, Aoi felt fire on her face. With a sneer, Ryouken said, "You see what your handiwork has caused?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "And do you see yours?"

Ryouken merely raised an eyebrow, as if he had never once considered that his own handiwork had done any sort of damage.

Aoi pointed up to the corners of the buildings where the colours were foggy and muddled. "Your code wrecked my performance. The screens glitched; the music skipped. If you think I'm here representing my brother, then I'm surprised you brought me here to where you rudely interrupted my live show."

Now he was frowning—not guilty, but certainly more surprised.

But now that the words were on her lips, they slipped across her lipstick and tumbled out of her. She hardly had enough time to say it all.

"I don't know why you and the other Hanois are still around, but you're not helping anyone by crashing the servers. Ever. You're just plain dicking around when everyone else is having a good time. In  _ particular,  _ you're crashing my show. You can see it here. The glitches in the lights. The way our voices keep cutting out. I bet if I jump around a lot, one of my arms will glitch—and that all happened in my live show. Why you've brought me here, I'm not sure, but I’m not mad just because my brother's precious Link Vrains has to undergo maintenance nearly every week. You’re wrecking  _ my  _ server."

All the while, Ryouken stared at her like she'd grown a second head. There wasn't a chance in hell that he would apologise—she'd prepared herself for little more than regard that he fucked up—but his staring sent shivers up her spine.

Aoi tapped her foot. Had the faulty servers caused him to glitch?

"You had a show tonight."

Not an apology, or even words resembling one. She reached for her duel disk once more, and to her surprise Ryouken didn't pull away. She caught it and hugged it to her chest. Yet Ryouken continued to stand and gape around, looking far too much like Takeru and Yuusaku when they didn't understand a problem in class. Or Naoki for that matter.

Slowly, she followed Ryouken's gaze up to the rafters. The server was still glitching, as she had pointed out to him on numerous occasions, but he was watching it like a child might observe a new discovery, as if he somehow hadn't realised that crashing the server could affect anything.

Then, in a whisper of a voice that didn't sound like it belonged to Ryouken at all: "So that's why your lives always glitch ..."

Aoi blinked. Frowned. Had she heard that correctly?

"You watch my lives?"

Her confirmation came when Ryouken's head shot up and he, the great leader of the Knights of Hanoi, blushed. Pink. It burned across his cheeks in a single rosy streak, and no amount of guffawing and arm crossing could hide the obvious truth.

Aoi felt herself going pink too. She knew Spectre attended her lives; most boys in Den City knew the name Blue Angel. She wasn't a small-time idol by Link Vrains or Den City standards, and the avatar Blue Angel was known nationwide. She had advertisements and merchandise and had been scouted by various producers and companies to support their work. But somehow knowing Ryouken had watched her live shows made her stomach flutter and churn in strange ways. A part of her wished his fingers had never touched a keyboard so that he wouldn't have continually wrecked Link Vrains. But a smaller, more traitorous part of her wondered just when a cyberterrorist leader had time to watch a live show. By his confusion he'd never watched her shows 'live'—he must have watched recordings or simply listened to her songs. But he still  _ watched her performances. _

And that fact she couldn't shake from her mind.

"You ... you've seen me perform?"

"I've never once been to a live," Ryouken said. He kept his head perfectly poised, but regardless of what the glitchy lights were doing over their heads, his blush was the clearest feature on his face. The white of his avatar's outfit even  _ accentuated  _ it.

She slipped her duel disk around her wrist, past her ruffly arm cuffs. Logging out was out of the question. Now it was her turn to question why Revolver of the Knights of Hanoi was a Blue Angel idol fan.

"But you know I perform, and that my performances have  _ glitches." _

Ryouken huffed. He raised a hand to his own duel disk.

In one fluid swing of her arm, her blue whip was in her hand and its string arcing through the sky. She caught it round his duel disk and pulled back; there was only a magnet keeping it to his wrist, and she pried it off with ease. The sleek duel disk fell into her palms. Like hers, it was a newer model, but Ryouken had modified its interface and stripped it of all AI technology, the AI-phobic person he was. She'd heard rumours from Yuusaku that Ryouken didn't even use AI technology in the real world—that his greatest enemies were probably called Siri and Alexa.

As she twirled the duel disk on one gloved finger, she hoped her name could be on that list too.

"For an idol fan, you don't seem to be that into the loop if you didn't realise your meddling was crashing my lives."

"Causation—"

"You mean lack of."

Ryouken pressed his lips together. Numerous times the reporters of Link Vrains had broadcast Revolver's duels, and she'd never seen him in quite the predicament as this. The Revolver she knew wouldn't try to log out and run away.

"If you promise not to wreck my shows, I'll give you back your duel disk."

He had the audacity to scoff at her. His composure was weakened, but she had to give him credit: he hadn't reached out for his duel disk and tried to run away. Feet planted on the ground, he was trying to stare her down. Aoi bounced the duel disk onto her other finger.

"If you give me a private show, I won't wreck your next performance."

Like a dragon had grown within her belly, she balled her hands in fists. "You—you think you're in any position to make a demand like that?"

He was  _ grinning.  _ She wanted to pull it off his face like a mask. "You've made it quite clear that you value your idol career. You're in a position to negotiate, not make demands, Zaizen Aoi. And I believe negotiations come with rewards for  _ both  _ parties."

She pinched her palms so tightly that her scowl twisted back and forth in a grimace.

"And what sort of person makes a negotiation when only they are at fault?"

Ryouken stepped forward. "When that someone threatens the Knights of Hanoi with a virus."

"You deserved that," she muttered under her breath, and jumped when Ryouken took another step forward. There was still several feet between them. She knew the arena better too—Ryouken hadn't been to a single one of her shows, but she'd practically lived on this stage since the debut of her idol career. The rafters and stage were her territory, and without his so-called hacking skills he wouldn't be able to use much more than brute force to get his duel disk back.

Ryouken lunged.

Aoi sprung back on her heels. Her free hand caught one of the trapeze bars she would swing around on. Using her legs for momentum and her arm remaining taut, she swung herself back and up; her stomach clenched from the force, yet she'd performed this stunt before. As graceful as a ballerina, she landed on top of the trapeze.

He was smiling at her, a flicker of awe in his eyes.

_ A secret fanboy,  _ she thought to herself, and for a moment, he hardly looked like the fearsome leader of the Knights of Hanoi. Butterflies grew in her stomach—only to be swallowed by the dragon in her soul when Ryouken launched himself up to her, landing precisely on the other trapeze pole. The glitching lights popped in bright pinks and blues, highlighting his white uniform.

"Negotiations, Zaizen Aoi, are mutual. Now, my duel disk."

Aoi tossed it from hand to hand. Balancing on the trapeze was as familiar as standing on solid ground; each minute movement she could judge by leaning her body from side to side. Ryouken, however, had both hands holding tight to the strings holding up the single, thin bar.

She smiled widely. "Of course."

The duel disk sailed through the air into Ryouken's waiting hands. The moment his hands left the trapeze strings, he tipped forward. Arms spinning like pinwheels, he neither grabbed hold of the duel disk nor the strings, but caught onto the trapeze bar by two fingers.

She watched the duel disk drop with a dull  _ thud! _

"You're far out of your element to be making such demands," she said, crossing her arms over her check.

For a man in his position, dangling like a scoundrel told to walk the plank, he was surprisingly calm. Smiling even, with his white hair fluffed around his cheeks still rosy-red.

"I'd almost consider this a private show."

Her lips twisted into a grimace. "I'm not that kind of idol."

Ryouken threw his other arm up over the trapeze bar. He pulled his legs up over the bar using strength she'd only seen in seasoned gymnasts. Most duelists couldn't even get up from a fall on their D-Board, much less pull themselves up to a standing position on a bar no wider than a chair leg. But he stood tall and proud.

"And I don't think you know what a private show is."

"You take me for a naive little girl?"

Ryouken chuckled. "I take you for a woman with a dirty mind. All I'm asking is for Blue Angel to put on a PG-13 show for me—"

She huffed loudly. "Then don't call it a private show. It reeks of miscommunication."

He shrugged and settled down on the trapeze, dangling his legs into the air. Aoi blinked at him, waiting for Ryouken to get up and fight, or worse make any further inane demands of her. But he simply sat and watched her, hands folded in his lap.

"What?" she said, pulling at a strand of blue hair. The producer had said long hair was all the rave among idols, and her recent Blue Maiden attire had drawn quite a crowd. She much preferred a shorter do; the way her hair sat across her neck and shoulders always made it scratchy and uncomfortable. To keep her hands busy, she pulled it up into a ponytail using an arm cuff.

Ryouken watched her all the while.

"What?" she said again.

"My duel disk is down there."

She stretched forward, rolling her toes tightly over the metal bar, and peered below. "You're correct."

Still smirking, Ryouken swung out a hand.

Was he trying to prove something to her? He just looked like a dumb fool.

Sighing, she sat down on the bar and hung her legs over the side. Often during the show she would swing from bar to bar, or she'd be below and her back-up dancers would perform intense acrobatics as part of a complicated routine, always matching the rhythm of her song. She'd never had a chance to properly sit above the stage and look out at the audience. With the lights dimmed and the strobe lights sparkling, the stage looked like a disco floor.

"If you stop crashing my lives, then you probably wouldn't have to suffer through them glitching when you watch them later."

"Mhm."

"And I wouldn't send a virus to you if you did that."

Again, he hummed under his breath.

Aoi felt her cheeks grow red once more, and she bowed her head and blurted out, "If you're really an idol fan, that is."

Through her blue bangs she could see him blushing. "Spectre is too."

"But I knew about Spectre. I didn't know about you."

Somewhere, floating in the wind, was the words,  _ And now you do. _

Dangling from the trapeze, frustration seemed to leak from her soul and slip away through the virtual world. Her stage had since returned to its full beauty, glimmering like a starry palace. She began to swing her legs back and forth, pumping the trapeze like a pendulum. Never before had she simply  _ been  _ on stage—there was always a song to sing, a dance to perform.

Across from her, Ryouken was watching her with something akin to awe in his eyes. They glowed like the blue lights overhead, just as brilliant. Without his mask on, without twisting his face, he looked like another bloke off the street. She hadn't seen him as a cyberterrorist leader in a few years; he'd become much more of a small-crime, pesky nuisance instead.

His gaze flicked to her when she began to chuckle.

"You know," she said, swinging herself back and forth, kicking the ribbons twisted round her calves, "if you didn't fool around wrecking Link Vrains, you could come to one of my lives. It might be a better use of your time. I'm not going to give you your own show, or whatever it is you want to call it, but you can have a ticket and for once not wreck my performance. Or"—she pressed a finger to her lips—"is the leader of the Knights of Hanoi too embarrassed to attend an idol live?"

There it was, that pink blush. The more she saw of it, the more appealing it looked.

She pointed to one of the booths up above. "A private room then. No one will see you up there, and you'll have a good enough view." Her heart fluttered and she brought a hand to her chest. "I won't bend over backwards for you, but if you'll stop wrecking my show, I'll let you see it. Would that satisfy you, Revolver?"

With a swing of his legs he leapt down onto the stage. Pink and blue hues danced across his hair. He retrieved his duel disk and clicked it onto his wrist, but did not log out. The hesitation was clear by his tense muscles and bowed head; he hadn't even hovered a finger over the button.

Aoi leapt down next to him. Her skirts rustled against her legs, and the angel wings bounced on her back. The lights were meant to dazzle on her. Every sequin on the uniform, every diamond studded around the boat collar neckline made her glow like a proper angel.

"You ought to find a new hobby to keep you occupied," she said, and with a flick of her wrist, two tickets appeared between her white-gloved fingers. SOL had fixed every glitch then. "Aren't our days of life-threatening duels behind us all? Find a hobby."

The tickets plopped into his empty hand. Aoi dragged a finger across his duel disk with its plain, AI-less interface, up to the homepage where she saw a symbol that mysteriously looked like her Blue Angel idol logo. Ryouken remained as still as a statue, watching her with the same awe-struck look he'd had ever since they appeared together in Link Vrains.

With a smile on her lips, Aoi clicked the button on his duel disk. There was no AI to announce, "Revolver, logging out," but when she clicked her own duel disk, she heard the trilly, robotic voice loud and clear. She tumbled back onto her bed, laptop still on her stomach. Her eyes took a second longer to adjust to the lightless sky and the plain interior of her room. Piles of messy clothes and towers of belongings to put away weren't quite the same glossy spectacles as a stage dressed like the starry sky.

Behind her, she could still feel the angel wings. Within her belly there were wings too, flapping even harder. Unable to keep still, she rolled onto her back.

On her laptop's screen was the message: _ " _

> _ Revolver: Good luck at tomorrow's live." _


End file.
